


Six Near Kisses (And One Real Kiss, Among Other Things)

by Vampiyaa



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Near Kisses, Romance, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiyaa/pseuds/Vampiyaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old favourite: six times the Doctor nearly kissed Rose, but didn't. And one time he did... among other things. Nine/Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Near Kisses (And One Real Kiss, Among Other Things)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thanatosx49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatosx49/gifts).



Six Near Kisses (And One Real Kiss, Among Other Things)

They’d known each other for a day— a little more than that, actually, but a day nonetheless. Granted, when the Doctor had known her far less than that — a whole twenty-six minutes — he’d run into her again by tracking down the Auton arm’s signal to her flat, and then had it fly up and choke him, forcing her to try and wrestle it off him. To his utter shock (and shame) feeling her warm human body moulded against his was apparently what triggered his first unintended hard-on in his life— all his lives, really. Why, he’d wondered when he was alone with his thoughts, was she so special? Then he’d hypothesised that it was just his new body, unstable and confused in the aftermath of the Time War, and thought no more of it.

At least, until Rose had strolled into the console room dressed to the nines in a dark blue period gown, hair up and an excited smile on her face. And there he was, brain short-circuited, a breathy, “Blimey…” flying out of his mouth (among other dangerous words) and a not-so-small problem in his jeans. It was disconcerting being erect twice in the span of twenty-four hours, and, once the fog had cleared his head, he hoped it wouldn’t happen again. But it did— too many times to count, so he gave up counting, instead focusing sometimes a little obsessively over how many times he nearly kissed her.

The first time was accidental. It was just after Gwyneth and Mr. Sneed had kidnapped her and he’d shared (stolen) Charles Dickens’ carriage to valiantly rescue her.

“Are you all right?” he’d asked her concernedly, one hand on her shoulder.

“Aside from bein’ groped by Sneed, ‘m fine now,” she’d grinned in response, tongue in teeth.

He’d shaken his head in disbelief, decidedly goofy grin on his face, and he’d leaned down without thinking, without knowing why. His frankly magnificent Time Lord brain had caught up with him just in time, and his pause just next to her mouth was as brief as possible and thankfully unnoticeable to a human, his face bypassing hers so the Doctor could instead hug her. He lied to himself for the duration of their discovery and encounter with the Gelth, telling himself that he hadn’t been about to kiss her, no sir… well, at least up until he thought he was going to die with Rose in the cellar— then he’d admitted it to himself. The Doctor had been an inch away from kissing her, like it was instinct, without any explanation as to why.

*

The second time was definitely on purpose, although he still didn’t go through with it.

She’d just lost her father (again) and had broken down crying the moment they’d stepped back into the TARDIS, tumbling into the Doctor’s embrace, face buried in his jacket. They’d sunk onto the grating, the Doctor propped up against the console and Rose literally in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist and using them to clutch onto him for dear life. He held her tightly, smoothed back her hair and rocked her for a full hour and a half, until her sobs died down and she fell unconscious in his arms, and he held her a moment longer just for his own benefit. The Doctor felt nearly as bad as she did; he couldn’t be angry with her, not when everything was his fault. He should have explained to her in more detail the laws of time instead of just expecting her to know, he shouldn’t have gotten angry and he shouldn’t have called her a ‘stupid ape’— the look on her face when he’d said that was probably going to haunt him through the rest of his regenerations. He’d only just realised he was in love with her, and having her ‘betray’ him and rip apart the universe to save _another man_ , whether or not it was her father, hurt like hell. Now he was dead, only this time he’d died in front of her, and all the Doctor could do was wipe away her tears.

Sighing and hating himself, he wrapped an arm underneath her bum and hoisted himself up, careful not to jostle her and wake her up. Rose tightened her grip on him, sniffling and burrowing her face into his neck as the Doctor walked across the grating into the hallway, intent on putting her to bed. When it came time to lower her down onto her duvet, however, she wouldn’t let go, so he was forced to curl up next to her, trying to be as gentlemanly as possible and keep a respectable distance (and failing because of her position and refusal to let go). 

The Doctor watched her for three hours, thirteen minutes and twelve point eight seconds, her face a mere inch from his, noses nearly touching. His eyes swept over her face, drinking in her expression in sleep, the way her eyelashes fluttered gently, the way her nose twitched under his scrutiny and the way her lips were slightly parted. Rassilon, he wanted to kiss her.

He lifted a hand and placed it gently over the side of her face, thumb skimming the apple of her cheek. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to steal just one kiss when she was sleeping, so she’d never know. Inhaling deeply to steel himself — and failing when the only air he got was heady with her perfume and hormones — he leaned over.

He froze, mouth a hairsbreadth away from hers, her breath hitting his lips. As much as he wanted to lean forward the remaining millimetre, his brain was screaming for him to run, and it eventually won over. Swallowing hard and deciding against it, he raised himself and kissed her forehead instead, pulling away and settling back down, feeling despondent. That was probably all he’d ever get.

*

The third one was not his fault. Mostly.

The Doctor always fancied himself a brilliant diplomat, but sometimes his fantastic grin and buoyant charm weren’t enough to make them see reason. Of course, he didn’t actually know that commenting about the awful drape scheme in the citadel of a group of royal quadrupeds would be considered an act of treason, punishable by execution. He was a little irked that Rose didn’t seem surprised when they were dashing through the citadel, running for their lives— honestly, it didn’t happen _that_ often. 

Hand clenched around Rose’s, the Doctor pulled Rose around twists and turns like a giant labyrinth, listening hard over the sounds of their mingled panting and footfalls to the angry clicking noises made by the natives on their tail. In the corner of his eye he spotted a slightly opened cupboard, filled with what looked like robes.

“In here!” he hissed, yanking her as gently and as urgently as possible towards the cupboard.

Rose didn’t complain, obediently diving into the cupboard and manoeuvring herself so that he had enough room to go in as well and shut the door, the room now pitch-black to a human but only mildly dark for him. He noticed four things at once— first: the cupboard was far too small for the two of them. Second: the first thing meant that the cupboard was filled with her scent almost immediately. Third: because of the first thing once more, he was forced to practically spoon her vertically. Fourth: because of the third thing, he was hard. Again. 

“Ow,” Rose muttered, when he tried to shove himself away and accidentally knocked his elbow into hers. Not only did he fail miserably, his hips still pushed against hers, but his efforts made her stumble and rub her front against his erection, making him wince, and he too lost his balance and nearly fell forward, thankfully stopping himself just before his face crashed against hers. He swallowed hard, thankful that she couldn’t see anything when he realised, had he not stopped himself, his mouth would have collided with hers. 

Craning his face backwards, he breathed, “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” she whispered back, sweet breath hitting his cheek. 

They were quiet again, the Doctor trying hard to ignore his throbbing cock and listen to the quadrupeds clicking past the cupboard door outside.

*

The fourth time gave him nightmares for weeks.

The TARDIS had landed them on the planet Mezot, which was extremely reminiscent to ancient Mesopotamia. The natives had mistaken Rose for the woman they’d kidnapped from the neighbouring continent, meant for sacrifice to their gods, and in less than an hour the Doctor had found himself tied to a tree trunk, screaming threats and watching the Mezoti carry off a terrified, restrained Rose on a stretcher made of animal skins. 

Thankfully, the Doctor had managed after some moments of struggling against his bindings to manoeuvre his hand around to his back pocket, activating the sonic and burning through the ropes. In his wild, insane frenzy he knocked out any Mezoti that tried to stop him by pressing his fingers to their temples, forcing them unconscious. He hadn’t used his mental abilities to full capacity since the Time War ripped away all the voices, tearing a hole in the back of his mind, but his vision was blinded scarlet and his mind was filled with one objective— get Rose back alive.

He found her spread over a stone slab out in an open field under the three suns, dressed scantily in elegant silks and jewellery draped over her neck, wrists and ankles, surrounded by handmaidens. And — his hearts wedged in his throat — she didn’t seem to be moving. 

“ROSE!” he screamed, sprinting towards her at once. 

The handmaidens took one look at his righteously furious, Oncoming Storm expression and scattered, cooing out frightened noises like pigeons as the Doctor flung himself towards the stone table. She was unconscious, but breathing; relief crashed over him like a tidal wave and he was pretty certain he’d died a little. If she had been dead… if they had killed her… he would not have been responsible for the blood that would have been shed— he _needed_ her. He slipped his arms underneath her and picked her up as gently as possible, cradling her like she was made of glass and hurrying back through the temple, where the TARDIS was parked, occasionally stepping over an unconscious Mezoti. The TARDIS rearranged herself to bring the med bay closest to the console room, and the Doctor made a beeline for the bed and laid her down gently, keeping his hand curled around hers both for comfort and to check her pulse. He could feel her heartbeat against his skin — strong and normal — and when he scanned her blood, he found heavy traces of a non-lethal drug, most likely what they used to knock her out.

“Oh Rose,” he whispered, letting his terror shine in his tone since she couldn’t hear it. 

Giving into his chest-tightening relief, he sank down onto the chair beside the bed, pressed his face into her neck and inhaled deeply to calm himself down. His lungs filled with her scent, mixed with the TARDIS’s reassuring humming and his crashing adrenaline, and his whole body slumped, leaning as best he could against her to try and take in her warmth as well. He had almost lost her, without ever telling her how he loved her to the point where it _hurt_ , how hard it was to stop himself from scooping her into his arms and never letting go, how much bloody time he spent thinking about her, kissing her, _fucking_ her until she shuddered with pleasure. Lifting his head slowly, he stared hard at her mouth again, lips he always stared at in the most inappropriate of circumstances. That was it. He had to kiss her, just once, before he lost her forever like he almost had today. The Doctor leaned over, lips just about to meet hers—

— until she murmured something, hand twitching in his and legs moving, and he tore his face away to a respectable distance just before her eyes fluttered open. She smiled sleepily at him, leaving his slight blush unnoticed. “Hello.” Rose frowned. “Wait, why’m I in the med bay?”

“The Mezoti drugged you,” he said gruffly, schooling his features to mask his fear.

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Rose nodded, sitting up and flushing when she realised her outfit. “Er, what’m I wearin’?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said. “For now, you’re gonna go straight to bed.”

“No complaints there, ta,” she mumbled, sliding off the bed with his help. “I’m changin’ into my jimjams first.”

The Doctor watched her flounce out of the room, silks dancing around her body and bangles tinkling, the scent on the bed the only remaining trace of her presence in the room.

*

The fifth one still haunted his dreams.

After a week of relaxation in the TARDIS (which meant Rose lounging in front of the telly and the Doctor secretly panicking) in an effort to ‘make it up’ to Rose somehow for the Mezoti episode, the Doctor announced that they were going to a resort planet. This was met by a lot of squealing on Rose’s part, and an excited hug that he was more than happy to reciprocate. He landed the TARDIS on Eris VI, populated mostly by humans, and they spent the day perusing the local shops and outright enjoying themselves.

At least, until they stopped in a pub for chips and banana daiquiris (“Best in the world, Rose Tyler!” he’d announced) and Rose accidentally drank a cup of nectar taken from an aphrodisiac moonflower found only on Ilzaya. He didn’t notice what it was at first, up until Rose started draping herself over him a bit more provocatively than normal, pheromones rolling off of her and making his head fuzzy. By the end of the first hour, she was shimmying into his lap, rocking against his rapidly swelling erection and nipping at the junction between his ear and his neck.

“Rose,” he gasped, when she bit down lightly and slipped a hand underneath his jumper, scratching her nails over his abdomen. 

“Doctor,” she hummed, trailing kisses up his jaw.

She inched closer to his mouth, and he almost let her kiss him, head tilted back and eyes half-mast as he felt her lips graze the corner of his mouth, but he pulled his head back at the last second, not wanting to kiss her when she was doped halfway out of her mind. Pushing her off his lap and avoiding staring at her bottom lip, stuck out in a pout now that she couldn’t reach him, he stood up and said brusquely, “Back to the TARDIS with you.”

“But it’s so _far_ ,” Rose whined, biting her lip tantalisingly and flicking her eyes down to the embarrassing bulge in his jeans. “Can’t we just do it here?”

His cock twitched in its confines at the innuendo behind her words and he scowled at her. “TARDIS. _Now_.”

His commanding tone had the opposite effect on her that he was aiming for— instead of obeying, her eyes darkened and she shivered. _Fuck_. Suppressing a growl, the Doctor pulled her closer, turned around and manoeuvred her onto his back so he could carry her out of the pub, trying desperately to ignore the way her thighs tightened around his waist. The whole way back to the TARDIS, Rose alternated with her hands between trailing patterns on his neck, trying to tilt his face towards her seeking mouth and tracing the outline of his nipple through his jumper. 

“D’you know what I think about, Doctor?” she murmured darkly, mouth literally pressed against his ear. He used all of his power not to shudder. “All the time? Snogging the stuffing outta you. Shagging you against the wall.” Ooh, did she really? Fantastic, so did he. _Focus_ , he ordered himself firmly. “An’ when you’re under the console doin’ pointless tinkering, an’ I’m watchin’ you on the jump seat, I think of sucking you off.” The thought of him on his back rearranging wires while she knelt over him, opening his jeans and taking his cock in her mouth made the shudder he was repressing wash over him, so violently he was positive she felt it. Apparently she did, because she hummed a chuckle into his ear and sucked his earlobe into her mouth. “Always wanted to do that. Could do it now, if you’d let me down…”

“Not happenin’,” he grunted, scowling when his voice came out thick and choked. 

“Don’t ya want my mouth on you, Doctor?” she said, voice sultry, teeth nipping at the shell of his ear. “Don’t ya want me sucking you, tongue runnin’ up your cock?” 

_Yesyesyesyesyesyes_ , he sobbed in his mind, but his face betrayed nothing but stony indifference. 

Rose continued to hiss the dirtiest things in his ear, her words becoming more and more sluggish until she was all but incoherent. He was both eternally grateful when she nodded off on his shoulder — there were only so many filthy scenarios he could take anymore and he already had enough to fuel years of fantasies — and worried, since if he didn’t give her something to counteract the effects soon, she’d go into a coma. 

He almost sobbed with gratefulness when the TARDIS came into view, and she once again rearranged her doors to head straight for the med bay. Ignoring the pulsing in his cock, he set Rose down on the bed and hooked up an IV-like needle and tube to her arm, injecting a counteracting drug into her bloodstream. 

Sooner than intended, she was awake and he could barely look her in the eye. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” the Doctor asked, almost hopefully.

“I remember us on Eris VI, goin’ to a pub for banana daiquiris,” Rose frowned, before gasping. “Oh my God. I got drunk, didn’t I?”

“No, Rose, you didn’t get drunk,” the Doctor chuckled. “You just…” he flushed crimson, “drank something that didn’t agree with your little human tummy, is all. I _told_ you to let me sonic it first,” he added patronisingly.

“Next time I’ll listen, maybe,” she grinned, tongue in teeth, before she grimaced. “Ugh, I think it gave me a headache. Got any aspirin?”

“Better,” he said, and it gave him the excuse he needed. “I’ll go fetch something.”

Then, because the image of her lips working him over was far too much, he bolted out of the med bay, cock already in his hand by the time he reached his bedroom.

*

The sixth time made him call himself a coward for ages.

Everybody had lived this time, and it was ecstasy. The Doctor was elated, serotonin and unspent adrenaline pumping through his whole body, which was probably why he was more possessive than usual when so-called _Captain_ Jack Harkness flounced in, with his pretty boy face too close to Rose’s for the Doctor’s tastes, flirting up a storm and making _his_ Rose blush. That was _his_ job.

So he did the closest thing to baser, animalistic instinct that he’d ever done— he staked his claim. The moment the Doctor made the (lame) excuse of, “Rose, I remember— I can dance!” swept Rose into his arms and sent a threatening look in Jack’s direction, the captain immediately seemed to get the memo and stepped back, crossing his arms and watching them twirl around, laughing. The captain retired when the Doctor and Rose showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and he was left alone with her to his utter delight.

“The universe hasn’t imploded yet,” Rose noted, slightly breathless as he dipped her backward. 

“Told ya I could dance,” he boasted, grinning and wagging his eyebrows at her.

The song changed after a bit, from upbeat to slow and gentle. Glen Miller. _How ironic_ , he snarked to the TARDIS in his mind, although he wasn’t actually angry— he couldn’t be, not when Rose had gravitated as close to him as possible, head resting in the crook between his neck in his shoulder, fitting against him perfectly like she was made specifically for this purpose. He sighed contentedly, tightening his grip on her as they rocked gently from side to side— he wished he could always be this close to her, either just for contact or in his bed. Visions of her naked and tangled around him in his dark sheets made him shiver pleasantly.

That was it— he had to do it. He wanted her in every way, so badly it felt like having a constant stomach ache, and he was tired of pretending to be the asexual alien who wanted nothing but friendship. He inhaled deeply to steel himself and started to pull his head back, angling it towards hers— her breath hitched in anticipation and he panicked at once, letting go of her hastily and stepping back just as the song crooned to a close. 

Avoiding her eyes, he said with false joviality, “Right. Bed for you— it’s late. Tomorrow we’re goin’ to New Leadworth.”

She looked stunned and — he felt a rush of guilt — a bit hurt, but she nodded and said, “Yeah, no, sounds great.” She gave him a half-smile and started towards the door, looking like she couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. “G’night, Doctor.”

He instantly regretted yanking himself away when Rose all but ran away, sighing with frustration to himself and ignoring the TARDIS’s chastising hum. He’d just hurt her. Why was he such a cowardly bastard? 

*

When he finally kissed her, it was heaven. Literal heaven— the unlimited supply of bananas and jelly babies and Rose in his arms on the plains of Gallifrey kind of heaven, not the fake one. 

It hadn’t started out that way, of course. Post-adventure on a planet covered in mucous (“Good for the skin!” he’d insisted happily, although Rose and Jack didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm) they all made a beeline for their showers. The Doctor spent a bit of extra time in his own shower as usual, taking care of himself after a long day of hiding in cramped spaces, pressed against Rose Tyler in several positions that Jack would call ‘acrobatic’ among other things. 

But the second he stepped out of his bedroom, dressed and clean again, the first thing he saw was Rose and Jack, equally dressed and clean. Except Rose was leaning back against the wall and Jack towering over her, arm resting on the wall above her head and an expression on his face that was sex in itself. 

“But Rosie, it’s always cold in my bed,” Jack was saying, in a whiny tone that didn’t match his suave grin. 

“It’d be warmer if you didn’t sleep naked,” Rose told him with an eye roll, but she still grinned. 

“Not if you were—” 

The Doctor didn’t even let Jack finish his sentence— if he had, there would have been bloodshed. He wasn’t sure what had happened in between, but suddenly he found himself storming down the hall, hand wrapped firmly around Rose’s wrist and dragging her away from the amused-looking captain, rage boiling his blood.

“Ouch! Doctor, what the hell? Let go—”

“No,” he snarled. 

He ignored Rose’s following protests, waiting until they were properly out of sight of the captain’s prying eyes before grabbing her other wrist, pinning her to the wall and crashing their mouths together so hard it probably bruised both of their lips. He snogged her furiously, a mixture of fear, anger, bliss and a kind of crazed thrill sweeping over him like a tidal wave; he was kissing her _at last_. She whimpered against his mouth (in pain?) and tried to free her wrists— his chest tightened and he froze up at once, panicking. He released her wrists abruptly and started to yank his face away, legs already kicking into gear so he could do what he did best and run, but her now liberated hands grabbed hold of his ears and dragged him back down, crushing his mouth to hers. It took the Doctor a moment to realise what was happening, finally getting it when she let out a hungry sound into his mouth— she _did_ want him. 

_Thank bloody Rassilon._

His legs stopped itching to run away at once, instead stepping forward so he was pressing her into the wall with his hips, a groan spilling from his mouth when she hopped up expertly, wrapping her legs around his waist (gymnastics lessons paid off, then) and pressing herself right _there_. His erection, which he’d taken care of less than twenty minutes ago, soared to life again and he wrapped his hands around her bottom, both to keep her elevated and to guide her rocking motions against him. 

“If…” she managed to say in between kisses, when she pulled away to breathe, “this is what happens…” another kiss, “when Harkness flirts with me,” he kissed her again, rougher this time now that the presently detestable Harkness was the topic of conversation, “he ought to do it more often.”

“Not happening,” growled the Doctor, promise evident in his voice as he bit down on her bottom lip and then laved his tongue over the mark. “You’re mine.”

A pleased shudder went through her, and since she didn’t seem to think that was reward enough for him, she slipped her tongue past his lips and ran it over the roof of his mouth. “Am I now?” 

He gave her bum a squeeze, making her squeak. “Yep.”

“Good.” She rubbed herself against the seam of his jeans, and he saw white for a second. “ _Prove it_.” 

His legs kicked into run mode again, only this time he was clinging onto her for dear life, still snogging her as much as possible despite searching for a bedroom, _any_ bedroom. The TARDIS was more than happy to make the first door he stumbled through his own door; he remembered his earlier fantasy of having her naked in his sheets and mentally praised the TARDIS before realising that Rose had already stripped him of his jacket. Now when did she do that? 

They both collapsed onto his utilitarian, dark blue duvet, lips still glued together, hands tangling in an effort to strip each other. It quickly became a contest to see who could get whom naked first; the Doctor thought he was winning, having managed to wrench her jumper, vest top _and_ bra off at the same time (yes, he was so impressive) only to find that his own jumper had been gone for a while now and his jeans were being shoved around his knees. He started to speed up his pace, ever eager to win, but his hands ceased to function when his erection was briefly bared to the air, and then engulfed in her hand. He let out a breathy sounding hiss, eyes fluttering shut as she gave him two quick pumps.

“You look human,” she noted, insultingly clear-headed even as she was naked from the waist up with her hand around his cock.

“You… _ooh_ … you look Time Lord,” he argued, thrusting into her hand when she brushed her thumb over his tip. “Keep that up an’ this is gonna be over far too soon,” he added, grabbing her wrist to still it and giving her a falsely stern look. 

“Next time?” she asked, obediently releasing him and starting to shimmy out of her jeans.

Love (and something else) flooded his body at her hopeful tone— next time, and the time after that, and however many times she wanted. He smiled down at her, rewarding her — and himself — by raising one hand and curling it around her breast. “Yes Rose.”

She hummed happily and kicked her jeans away, the sound of them plopping to the ground unbelievably satisfying. With the denim barrier gone, the Doctor could now smell the scent of her arousal— it hit him like a ton of bricks and made his grip on her breast tighten for a moment. Hooking his thumb under the elastic of her knickers, he pulled them down her legs with more force than necessary, giving up when they reached her calves and instead burying his face between her thighs, inhaling her scent deeply and making her squirm. 

“Do you have any idea how delicious you smell, Rose Tyler?” he growled against her thigh, before plunging his tongue into her centre abruptly.

Rose cried out at once, arching off the bed and fisting her hands in his sheets; he moaned with her, the taste of her exploding on his tongue and making the throbbing in his cock speed up slightly. As he lapped at her folds, he reached down with his free hand and gave himself a few hard tugs— he was going to come quickly, however much he wanted to prolong this, so he focused his efforts with his tongue on her clit so she would too. 

He waited until her cries started to get sharper before pulling his head up, climbing back on top of her and diving down to kiss her again. She snogged him back furiously, fingers combing through his bristled hair as he positioned himself at her dripping entrance and pushed into her roughly. His elbows almost gave out; Rassilon, this was _ecstasy_. Grabbing the headboard for leverage (whoever invented headboards was a genius) he started up a vicious rhythm, hooking his hips and all but pounding into her. She came in mere minutes, her moans coming out whimpering and jagged, and he followed seconds later, using her moans to fuel his already flaming need until pleasure seized his whole body and he was spilling into her, back tensed, teeth gritted and the cords of his neck straining against the pleasure. 

He sank down on top of her, allowing both of them a brief three point seventeen seconds to catch their breath before dragging himself up and snogging her again, just because he knew he could. Rose seemed to understand, kissing him back despite barely being able to take in enough oxygen, until she was dizzy and he had no choice but to stop lest she pass out.

“D’you…” she licked her lips, trying to take in enough air to clear the fog out of her mind, “d’you have any idea how many times I’ve almost snogged you?” 

That was supposed to be his line, wasn’t it? Frowning confusedly, he glanced up at her and said, “What?”

“Dozens of times I’ve almost snogged you,” she said almost conversationally. “And you had no idea.”

Yep, definitely supposed to be his line. Collapsing into laughter, the Doctor scooted up and pulled her into a horizontal embrace, encouraging her to spoon his side. “Have I ever told you, Rose Tyler, that you are bloody fantastic?”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Beta: Miral-Romanov**.  
>  **All my fics can be found on fanfiction.net, teaspoon and tumblr**.  
>  A/N: A little bit of fluff and smut for Thanatosx49, who didn't have the best birthday and needed a pick-me-up. Hope this helped a little~!


End file.
